


Honeyed Moon

by cincoflex



Series: Helpmeet [2]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-04
Updated: 2012-06-14
Packaged: 2017-11-06 19:42:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/422505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cincoflex/pseuds/cincoflex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki returns to meet his in-laws. It's helpful to have read the first story "Helpmeet."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Again, I owe my Betas, VR Trakowski and Lovellama all my love and gratitude!

Cynara wasn’t sure _how_ the musk ox got into her office, but she was pretty sure _who_ was responsible. 

She clung to the doorway for a long moment, staring at the shaggy beast that was casually nosing through the papers on her desk, and tried not to breathe in the scent of hair, hide and hay that rolled off him in waves.

“Husband?” she called into the air, trying to keep her voice from panicking. That was the trick; sounding like it was sweet to find a huge ungulate in her workplace.

“A gift,” came the voice from behind her. “For you.”

She jumped, and peered over her shoulder, instantly irritated that he was smiling at her, dimples deep despite looking tired and pale as well.

“A . . . gift,” Cynara repeated, resolving to stay calm. “Thank you. I did not know I _needed_ a musk ox.”

“It is a husband’s duty to provide,” Loki intoned.

Cynara stared at it, and then back at him. “He’s not . . . your _son,_ is he?”

Loki looked thoughtful for a moment. “I’m fairly sure he is not. I would have remembered calving him, and my attraction to shaggy females was . . . just a youthful phase.”

“Too much information,” Cynara chuffed, trying to squeeze into her office around the hairy mass. “Husband, what do you expect me to do with a musk ox, and answer that question carefully, because while you may like gallivanting around with creatures, I’m _not_ that sort of wife.”

“Sven-the-Fress will be a guardian,” Loki intoned, waving airily. “A varon-ox of sorts.”

“Sven-the-Fress? Fress means tomcat. He’s NOT a tomcat!” Cynara darted forward, yanking away the ream of paper the ox had begun to nibble.

“You don’t like him,” Loki deflated, looking genuinely hurt and Cynara took a deep breath.

“He’s the best-looking musk ox I’ve ever seen,” she announced truthfully. “And nobody has ever given me one before.”

“I can get more--”

“No! Ah, no, one is more than enough, husband. One is almost too much. I’m pretty sure the lease has a restriction on pets larger than thirty pounds, which means I won’t be able to ah, keep him.”

Loki tipped his head, looking at the musk ox in a calculating way. “Thirty pounds . . .”

He waved a hand, and instantly the musk ox shrunk, compressing until it was the size and shape of a corgi. Cynara blinked, and crouched down, reaching a tentative hand out to touch the miniaturized musk ox. The animal permitted the petting, then began to nose around the toe of her leather boot. “Uhhh, okaayyy.”

“You will not get as much wool from him this way,” Loki sighed. “It may take years to gather enough to knit.”

“I’ll _buy_ you socks,” Cynara assured him, and rose, looking up into his face. She laid a hand on her husband’s cheek, which was cool under her fingers. He leaned into her touch, and she noted tinges of green around his eyelids. “Are you ill?”

“I am merely tired and require your care,” Loki murmured, and promptly quashed the tender feelings rising up inside her by adding, “therefore I order you to wait on me until I am healed.”

“Hold on a minute, I’m at work, Husband—I have projects to do. You can’t just whisk me---”

Apparently he could, Cynara sourly realized a moment later as the two of them materialized outside the front steps of the house on Yetman Avenue. Loki had Sven-the-Fress tucked under one arm, like a shaggy football. Cynara looked around, hoping nobody had noticed them, but unfortunately old Mrs. Calufrax from across the street was watering the flowerbeds in her yard and staring at them suspiciously.

Cynara waved. “Oh, hi. Your ah, zinnias are looking nice . . . see you . . .” she linked an arm through Loki’s and hustled him into the house, fumbling with her keys and growling under her breath. “Honestly, of all the people to _see_ you!”

“She has forgotten already,” Loki replied, setting Sven-the-Fress down and straightening up with a groan. 

Cynara looked at him again, and stepped closer. “You’re in pain. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“A scratch,” he sighed, “or two.” He moved to open the jerkin he wore, pulling away the edges to reveal pale skin scored with long oozing gashes. “Apparently dragons make outstanding sentinels.”

“Dragons? As in more than one? Oh God . . .” Cynara began to pull the rest of his clothing open, studying the wounds with horror.

“Only one clawed me,” Loki pointed out, a flicker of a smile crossing his mouth. “While I have a fair measure of speed, he had just a bit more. Ow.” This last came as Cynara lightly touched one of the marks. 

“Out of your clothes,” she commanded quietly. “These gashes need to be washed and you need to lie down somewhere.”

Loki raised an eyebrow. “I am a _god;_ you do not order me around like some minion.”

Cynara chuffed, looking up at him mutinously. “I am a _wife;_ my duty is to take care of you.”

He thought this over and then nodded imperiously. “Proceed.”

“Oh thank you,” she muttered under her breath even as she helped him out of the ornate green leather gear he generally wore. Cynara wasn’t sure what everything was called, but once Loki was down to skin, she tried not to lick her lips.

He was still gorgeous, despite the oozing gashes along his ribs, pale and lean muscle, and even shirtless he projected the lazy grace of a long tomcat. Cynara couldn’t help herself and reached out to smooth her fingers along his chest, pretending she wasn’t when Loki caught her and grinned.

Of course it was his devastating one; the grin that sent heat through her stomach and lower. It had been nearly two months since Cynara had last seen her husband on their wedding night in Las Vegas and her body was letting her know it remembered him. He caught her hand in his and gave it a light squeeze. “We both burn,” he murmured, and Cynara blushed.

“Yes, well we need to get you healed before anything else, Husband. Those slashes don’t look very good, and I don’t want you getting any worse . . .” she told him firmly, but he pulled her close and looked down at her, green eyes smoldering.

“Healing comes in many forms,” Loki intoned hoarsely. “Where is our bed?”

Cynara thought hard, trying to figure out what best to do. From the look of his injuries, anything as strenuous as sex would be sure to either worsen the gashes or force whatever infection/poison was in them to act faster, but at the same time she knew it had been an act of trust for Loki to come to her in his need. Any rejection now might send him into a rage, or worse, merely send him away, and that wouldn’t bode well for anyone in the long run.

An option came to mind; something she knew would probably appeal to him. Smiling, she batted her eyes up at Loki. “Oh lord and master,” she cooed, snickering to herself even as the words slipped out. “Allow me to pleasure you here and now, as befits a god.”

He looked confused, as well he might, Cynara thought. She’d never played the concubine card before.

Loki arched an eyebrow again, but she slid her hands down to his trousers, noting the tented ridge as she undid the fastenings as deftly as she could. Oh he was a god; of that there could be little doubt, and she began to kiss her way down his chest and stomach, making her intention clear.

Over her head she heard him give a startled gasp. “What . . . ohhhhhh. Yes. _Yes,_ befitting a god . . .”

She settled on her knees, grateful that the living room shades were closed; the last thing she needed was to give Mrs. Calufrax a heart attack. The sweet musk of Loki’s skin made her sigh, and she tugged the leather trousers down, freeing his prick and taking it in her two hands happily before nuzzling it.

Fun. This was fun, Cynara thought. She’d always liked giving pleasure, and the playful talent of performing a good blowjob was very satisfying. Carefully she licked his length, gratified when Loki shuddered. God he might be, she thought, but he was just as basic in his drives as she was. That was her last deliberate thought as she bent her face and slowly slipped his thick shaft into her mouth.

He tasted of salt, leather and citrus, and Cynara took her time in toying with the thick head of his cock, kissing it playfully as she caressed his heavy silky balls, making pleased little sounds whenever he reacted. There was something endearing about hearing Loki breathe heavily, and when one of his hands slid through her hair, long fingers weaving into her fluffy curls, she gave a hum of approval.

“Bride, you are . . .” he groaned, _“worthy_ . . .”

She nearly smiled, but instead quickened her pace, savoring the sudden swell of his prick as she did so. Cynara squirmed a little, aroused herself, but put her focus back on pleasuring him, gliding her tongue around the sensitive underside, lightly raking her teeth on the topside—not hard, just enough to tease.

It worked; the fingers in her hair tightened. Cynara slid one hand around the back of his thigh to brace him and began to move steadily, losing herself in the rhythm of this pleasure. After a while his groans deepened and grew louder, and she felt the warning throbs against her tongue before Loki came, the heated spurts tasting of anise and cream.

Cynara swallowed, surprised at the mild taste, and licked the rest of him clean, feeling absolutely smug. She was still horny as hell herself of course, but doing mischief to the god of the same had been a true triumph, one she intended to savor a bit. The fingers in her hair loosened and slipped free, moving around her head to stroke her cheek and lift her chin. She looked up the long torso of her husband to his face.

His pale, oh-so-vulnerable face. They stared at each other a long moment, and she felt a rush of something fiercely joyful rise through her as she stood again, slipping her hands up to cup his face.

“My goddess,” Loki whispered. Then he smiled again, the vulnerable expression gone, replaced by a slightly dazed look. “I fear I shall need our bed after all . . .” he swayed and Cynara slipped an arm around him, guiding Loki up the stairs and wondering if Sven-the-Fress would try to follow them.

*** *** ***

The wounds looked worse in good light, and Cynara steeled herself before unpacking the first aid kit. All S.H.I.E.L.D. agents had triage training to some degree; it made sense considering how random and dangerous the job could be. Case in point: dealing with oozing dragon-claw gashes. She pulled out gauze and hydrogen peroxide and antibiotic ointment, then looked at Loki’s face.

He lay quietly—already an indication of how much pain he was in—on his right side, eyes closed. Cynara spoke softly. “I’m going to clean these and put something over them to help heal and protect them. I think you ought to try and sleep, Husband.”

“You may carry on,” he murmured, not opening his eyes, his voice sleepy. With care, Cynara cleaned each gash, wiping the gummy blood and sticky ichor away before applying the ointment and taping gauze over them. He would probably have a scar or two, she thought; not typical for a god, but then again dragons were powerful too, in their own right.

“Why were you messing around with dragons?” she asked in a low voice, trying to make the question sound unimportant.

“I was not ‘messing around’ with them,” came his terse reply. “They were a minor difficulty I encountered while attending to matters best left unshared with you.”

“Hmmm.”

“It is far better for _all_ concerned that you remain ignorant, Wife,” Loki assured her through gritted teeth. “Trust me.”

Cynara said nothing, figuring he was probably right; anything involving dragons was probably something she didn’t really want to know about. On the other hand she had no doubt that Fury probably knew Loki was here and would be asking questions very soon. “Fine, fine. Try and get some sleep.”

He gave a murmur of agreement. Cynara finished with the dressings, and then moved to pull a blanket over him and kiss his temple; it was cool against her lips. 

At least he didn’t have a fever, she noted.

 

Tiptoeing downstairs, she came upon the sight of her avocado tree being stripped of leaves by a very determined Sven-the-Fress. Two small and steaming piles of fresh manure in the hallway assured her he’d made himself at home, and grumbling, she went to get paper towels and wipes, wondering if it was even possible to house-train a musk ox.

After cleaning up and washing her hands, Cynara picked up her phone. She hesitated, wondering what she was going to say, but was saved the trouble when it rang in her hand. A peek at the screen made her flinch, but Cynara answered it calmly. “Sir.”

“Special technician Sigyn-Laufeyson,” Fury rolled out impatiently. “Since you’re generally not in the habit of importing livestock or leaving work without authorization, I’ll assume your husband is around.”

“He did stop in at the office, and um, brought me a present,” Cynara agreed. They’d left in a hurry; she wondered if Sven-the-Fress had left anything behind that she hadn’t noticed. 

“Flowers are a present,” Fury pointed out. “Chocolates are a present. Fifteen hundred pound musk oxen are NOT a damned present!”

“Well culturally speaking they sort of are, sir,” she replied. “I mean, given the template of Asgardian civilization, livestock were and are considered status symbols to show off personal wealth--”

“Save the cultural justification for someone else,” Fury snapped. “What’s he doing here?”

“Eating my avocado plant,” she blurted, before realizing her mistake. “Oh, um, you meant Loki. Errr . . . conjugal visit?”

Eloquent silence greeted this, and Cynara squirmed. At her feet, Sven-the-Fress ambled over, making little snorty sounds.

“This is how this is going to go,” Fury told her in flat tones. “He stays with you, period. If he makes one move anywhere across the planet without you by his side accounting for his actions, there won’t BE any more visits, conjugal or otherwise. Do I make myself clear?”

“As a windowpane, sir.” Cynara waited a beat before adding, “Um, I do have one little request though—could you please get a message to Thor to ah . . . call me? I have some questions . . .”

“Questions.”

“Yes sir.” She hesitated.

“About?” Fury wasn’t going to let her off the hook.

Cynara gave a gulp. “Um . . . Asgardian anatomy?”

Another silence, this one twice as painful for her. Cynara could just imagine Fury’s unblinking one-eyed stare, his completely un-amused expression. Then—

“I’ll see he gets in touch with you.”


	2. Chapter 2

"Dragon's claw are tipped with venom," Thor announced. His voice sounded odd over the phone, and Cynara suspected it was on speaker, wherever he was. "Their poison can wound the Jötunn because it chills them."

"I thought venom burned," Cynara mused.

"Dragon venom burns those with heated blood. Those born in frost are frostbitten by it," Thor replied. "Had I had been clawed, I would fever as the wound festered. Loki is not of my body's blood, so for him, he will freeze."

She felt a flare of panic. "Uh, okay, so what should I do to help him?"

"Warmth," came the reply. "Also, horseradish."

"Excuse me? Horseradish?"

Thor laughed. "Yes. Heat must be applied within and without. Pepper is good, and the fiery sauce of the ta-cos. Anything that brings fire to the belly will help one such as Loki."

"Uhhh, okayyyy." Cynara muttered. She knew Thor had a sense of humor, but she hoped this wasn't some bizarre manifestation of it.

"Trust me, Cynara Sigyn-Laufeyson—heat will be good. Do not let him grow cold. Loki may be a weight upon my heart, but for all that I still call him my brother."

She appreciated that, and promising to take the advice, hung up. After a moment, Cynara wandered into the kitchen, trying to remember if she had any horseradish.

It was a small kitchen; the entire house was compact for a two story, built back in the Twenties, when living on Staten Island was considered living in the country. The landlord had done a few necessary repairs and improvements, but for the most part the house still had a lot of original features and to Cynara's eye, charm. She liked it much better than the apartment she'd originally lived in, and the bonuses of having both a back yard—even if it was only the size of a postage stamp—and a view of the Atlantic Ocean went a long way in offsetting the commute to Manhattan by ferry each day.

Catsup, mustard, mayo, soy sauce, ah! Horseradish, tucked behind a bottle of maple syrup on the refrigerator door. Cynara pulled it out and looked for an expiration date. Finding none, she rummaged in the cupboard for a can of chicken soup, talking to herself. "I'm not sure these really go together."

She dug out one of the heating pads from the cupboard in the hall closet and was at the top of the stairs when her phone rang again; recognizing the number, Cynara gritted her teeth before answering. "Hi mom."

"Hi hon. Just wanted to remind you about bringing the potato salad tomorrow," he mother burbled. "You know how Harry loves your potato salad!"

"Oh. Tomorrow . . ." a rush of panic and guilt hit her; she noticed Loki sitting up in bed now, looking pale but rested. "Um, I'm not sure I can make it, Mom. My . . . husband is in town."

"That's wonderful, about time!" came the enthusiastic reply. "Oh 'Nara sweetheart, you've got to bring him so we can finally MEET our son-in-law! I'll tell Harry to pick up another steak! Ohh, he's not vegetarian, is he?"

"Wait mom—I don't think he is, but-" Cynara tried to protest, but the phone suddenly flew out of her hand, zooming swiftly from her grasp and through the bedroom doorway to Loki's outstretched fingers. He cradled it to his ear and smirked.

"No, I'm not vegetarian at all," he murmured.

Cynara scrambled into the room and over the mattress, trying to reclaim the phone, but Loki twisted away from her listening intently before speaking again. "We'd be delighted to come, of course. Family is all important." He fended off a further grab and added, "Yes, your accent is very lovely too. Tomorrow then. Thank you," and handed the phone to Cynara who glared daggers at him before putting it to her ear.

"Mom?"

"Oh he sounds so suave!" came her mother's comment. "All right it's settled then. We'll see you two around three tomorrow, with potato salad! Be careful driving over the causeway, honey!"

"Mom?" but she had already hung up. Cynara turned a glare on the man beside her. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

He flashed her a careless grin. "Meeting my in-laws?"

"No!" Cynara wailed. "No! Look, my mom is okay; she pretty much loves everyone, but Harry . . ."

"If she does not love Harry, why did she marry him?"

"No—what I mean is that Harry is a lot more cynical," Cynara muttered. "Look, my mom and step-dad are retired and happy, okay? They don't really need to know that there's an Asgard, or that most of Manhattan was leveled because of your machinations, Husband. They really don't need the stress!"

"I should have known that you would be ashamed of our marriage," Loki replied in a melancholy tone, his gaze distant. "Ashamed of me."

It was a low blow, and even as she moved to deny it, Cynara caught a glimpse of something sly deep in his green eyes. "Stop it! You're not going to put words in my mouth, and you're not going to make me feel guilty for wanting to protect my mother! And I'm not ashamed of you, all right? You are a god, and brilliant in your own twisted way, and . . and . . ."

"Yes?" He prompted, rolling over and pinning her down against the mattress, dimples deep again. Cynara tried to scowl up at him, her fluffy hair splayed all over the pillows.

"And a huge pain in the ass," she finished. "But I promised to love and honor you, not to obey you."

"Two out of three is a good start," Loki considered before dipping his head to kiss her. His mouth was cold, and Cynara shivered, lightly squirming to break the kiss and cup his face.

"You need heat."

"Yes," he agreed quietly. "The poison is working through me as I knew it would. I should be healed by tomorrow, though."

Cynara sighed. "If you keep the heating pad on, and if you drink all the soup I make you and if you are better, then fine, okay, I'll take you to Perth Amboy tomorrow, although I can't really believe you want to go."

Loki gave her a peculiar glance, and she realized why it struck her as so odd; his expression was both serious and touched with a tiny hint of delight. "Wife, I did not lie to your mother. Asgardian or human; family IS all."

Cynara stared at him for a moment longer, and sighed again.

She fed Loki a mug of chicken noodle and horseradish soup in bed, which he seemed to enjoy, and his elegant table manners surprised her. Somehow she'd thought of the banqueting halls and feasts of Asgard to be hugely messy affairs, with bones tossed over shoulders, and sloshed steins of mead spilling everywhere and told him so.

He laughed. "That's hardly proper behavior for gods, now, is it? Oh some of the rowdier ones might get drunk and slovenly, but there are some standards that are universal. Besides, one makes a stronger impression when civilized."

"I suppose," she replied, shuffling out of her clothes and climbing into bed next to him. "What size are you?"

He shot her a suggestive look and Cynara blushed, elaborating. "In clothing. You'll need something to wear for tomorrow, and the green leather would be a little . . . much, husband."

"I could always simply alter my form," he offered, but Cynara shook her head.

"I don't want you to stress yourself." Privately she worried that he might forget his focus and end up naked; not a bad thing in private, but certainly not something she wanted anyone else to see, much less her mother.

"You humans, always so concerned with appearances," he sniffed. Cynara gave him a dry look and eloquently mimed a long pair of horns, stretching her hands high over her head.

Loki shrugged. "Advertising."

"Bragging."

He set the mug on the nightstand. "That sounds like a demand for proof, wife."

Cynara did her best to look innocent of the charge, but couldn't keep a straight face when Loki pulled her to him. The chill of his torso made her shiver, but he gave a sigh, eyes half-open as he smiled. "So very warm, this soft skin of yours . . ." as he spoke, he let his palms slide down her ribs, his fingers stroking along the shallow trough of her spine.

She shivered. "Mmmm, are you well enough . . . ?"

He gave her a sweetly lofty look. "Such a foolish question! For that, you must suffer much pleasure."

Cynara tried to figure this out, and wasn't prepared when he pulled her up, his strength more than enough to make her grip the headboard for balance. "What are you . . .?" she gasped, unprepared to feel him slither down under her, his hands sliding around her thighs, parting them in a lovely arch over his face.

"How sweet," he murmured, "Hidden treasures for me."

Cynara blushed, trying not to squirm, but it was difficult. Loki had one big hand gripping each cheek of her ass and was nuzzling his way between her thighs, humming to himself. She looked down at him. "Husband . . ." she began, but a moment later felt the cool touch of his lips along her inner thigh.

She writhed; the tickle was nearly unbearable, particularly when he began to speak, his words muffled against her skin.

"Let us make heat . . ."

He was ruthless. Three times Loki brought her to the very edge of orgasm, cruelly backing off before each peak to leave Cynara in a writhing frenzy of need. She gripped the headboard and growled, trying to push against his lips but his grip on her ass held her firmly as Loki chuckled.

"Shall I keep going?" he taunted her, peeking just over the damp fluff of her mound.

Cynara twisted out of his grip, sliding herself down, one hand reaching between her legs, cupping his cock which lay rigid on his flat belly. "Evil is as evil does," she managed, and shifted until the head of his prick nestled just within the wet folds between her hips. She locked her knees, resisting his attempts to pull her down, and reached back behind her to tug his hands away.

Surprised, Loki let her, finding his wrists pinned down to the mattress a moment later. He grinned up at her, teeth very white in the twilight that filled the bedroom. "The kitten has teeth, I see."

"I am woman, hear me roar," Cynara informed him, and pushed back with agonizing slowness, allowing only the head of his cock to slip inside of her.

His nostrils flared as he drew in a breath, and for a moment Loki's green eyes flashed dangerously. In a quick stroke he attempted to thrust his way up, but Cynara anticipated this move and rose up on her knees as he did so, keeping him just within the tantalizing inch he'd gained.

"We can dance," she informed him sweetly, "or we can fuck."

"Where is the difference?" Loki asked, looking up at her smugly.

"Here . . ." Lazily Cynara rolled her hips and squeezed, grateful that Pilates and kegels were going to pay off. They did; Loki gave a low bray of pleasured surprise, his hips jerking up again. He fought to control himself, but there was impatience in his gaze now and hunger.

"Wicked little Wife," he murmured with a sense of bemused pride. "You dare to taunt a god?"

"Oh I me, Husband. Hard."

He did, driving up into her, stroking deeply as Cynara cried out and rocked with him in counterstroke, their rhythm rough and graceless but full of heat. She couldn't keep a grip on his wrists, bounced as she was by the drive of his hips. Loki slipped his arms around her bracing and caging her torso against his, his breath hot on her face.

Cynara's groans began to rise in pitch as each thrust brought her closer to climax, and in the moment right before she did, she felt words—those words-leave her lips in a ragged whisper.

Loki's eyes opened wide and then she was soaring, every muscle shuddering with quicksilver pleasure as she clung to him and rode out her orgasm in blissful triumph, feeling his own rocketing through hers.

She woke up a few hours later, sticky and disoriented, half tangled in the sheets. Cynara got up gingerly, feeling achy in delicate places as she went to use the bathroom and check on Sven-the-Fress. He was out in the yard, napping on the doormat so she set a bowl of water out and made her way back upstairs.

Loki was curled on his side, his bandaging dislodged. As she watched, he shivered. Cynara chided herself and climbed back into bed, pulling the blanket up over them. She curled herself around his lean back, alarmed at how cold he was and let her body heat absorb the chill. Gently Cynara tugged the bandage back in place and then draped her arm around Loki's narrow waist as soothingly as she could.

Gradually he warmed and his shivering stopped; she fell asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

He wasn’t in bed when Cynara woke up. Alarmed, she slid off the mattress, grabbing for her robe on the back of the bathroom door and missing it because it wasn’t there. She snagged one of the larger towels instead and made her way downstairs, listening intently for anything . . . unusual. Logically Cynara knew that S.H.I.E.L.D. was probably bugging her house by now, and although they’d probably gotten an earful last night, none of it would be a matter of global security. Sure it was going to be difficult to meet Fury’s one-eyed gaze now that he’d most likely heard her and the god of mischief going at it full-tilt, but he’d never make a comment about that part of it.

At least she didn’t _think_ so.

In the kitchen, Loki stood in her sheer negligee robe, still looking amazingly god-like despite the pink roses printed all over it. He had the half-full milk jug in his hands and was examining it carefully. “Where is your cow?”

“I don’t have one and I don’t _need_ one,” she told him hurriedly. “I . . . bartered for that milk. Do you want some cereal?”

“Grains?”

“Yes.” Cynara pulled out the box of Fruit Loops and handed it to him, then went to start the coffee. It felt slightly awkward to be having breakfast together; she wasn’t used to company at this hour in the morning. “How are your ribs?”

Loki had opened the box and was peering into it. “There is only a trace of poison left now, and it will be gone within the day. These are . . . interesting.”

“Vitamin fortified,” she mumbled. “Coffee?”

His politely blank look made Cynara add, “Heated beverage, soothing and stimulating. Necessary for my sanity.”

Loki accepted the mug she set before him, inspecting it carefully as well. “It is the color of dung.”

“So is chocolate,” Cynara grunted. “Listen, about last night . . .”

He looked up, saying nothing, his expression tinged with a melancholy wariness. She sighed, cradling her mug in her hands. “What I said . . .”

Loki kept gazing at her, and Cynara tried again, feeling herself flush. “Ummm, I _meant_ it. I know we went into this marriage for some, well, bizarre sorts of reasons, but in some strange way I really do . . . love you.”

He cocked his head as if considering her words, and finally gave a small, satisfied nod. “When first I saw you in our dream I knew you did. For a human you have courage . . . and good taste.” Cynara blinked at him, not sure what to say to that, but Loki went on quietly. “You are bound to me both here and in Asgard, worthy to wear a crown and sit by my side, wife. More than that I will not say _now_ , not with the ears of my enemies around us.”

He picked up the coffee, sniffed it, and took a considering sip while Cynara dropped her gaze, feeling a surge of exasperated affection surge through her. She poured them each bowls of cereal and they crunched their way through breakfast as she answered his questions about what fiber and nutrition and toy prizes were.

 

After a quick trip to the closest retail store and some fairly accurate estimation of sizes, Cynara returned with a few bags of clothing to find Loki sprawled in the back yard speaking to Sven-the-Fress in an emphatic tone, talking about . . . hay.

“The best grows in Vigriðr—lush as far as the eye can see, particularly in the haze of summer. The grain there could feed all of Midgard twice over if harvested, but such considerations are foolish of course. Still, that was some of the best grass I’ve ever grazed on . . .”

Cynara rolled her eyes and handed him the bag. “Here. Green leather will be a little too much for my mother’s sensibilities. While we’re at it, there are a few things you might want to know about my parents—”

“The renowned Matilda and Harold Wolfe of Perth Amboy,” Loki replied, nodding and looking into the bag, pulling out a pair of slacks.

“My mother is . . . without guile,” Cynara sighed. “An innocent except when in the roller rink. She will believe anything until told otherwise, so I want to know _what_ you’re going to tell her.”

It was highly distracting to watch Loki slip into pants, particularly since he ignored the briefs she’d bought. Ah well, Cynara figured going commando was probably second-nature to the Asgard. She blushed when he caught her looking, his grin very amused. “I shall tell her she is blessed in her old age to have gained a god into her family, and that she and your stepfather are now under my protection, of course.”

“No,” Cynara sighed. “The less said about your godhood the better, Husband. Tell them you’re from Norway and you travel a lot. Better yet, don’t say much at all. Eat what’s offered and smile.”

“Where is the fun in that?” Loki protested, pulling on the cable knit sweater over his head. “Were I at full health I would _show_ them what this alliance truly means.”

“And Fury would come swooping down on my family’s barbeque, guns blazing,” came the pained rejoinder. “There would be destruction, possibly death and certainly a very bad first impression. I beg you Husband; let’s get through this afternoon with no threats of world domination or slurs on humanity. That’s all I ask.”

“Oh very well,” he sighed, “but there must be compensation for the effort this _will_ require.” Loki gave her a meaningful look, and Cynara busied herself with collecting Sven-the-Fress, who seemed to have gotten used to being picked up.

“We’ll discuss that later,” she mumbled.

“After all, _someone_ must worship me; it is my birthright.”

To his credit he managed this with a straight face, and Cynara poked her tongue in her cheek so firmly she thought it would pop through. 

*** *** *** 

Cynara pulled the Range Rover up into the driveway, feeling the tension knot her stomach tightly. She shot a tremulous glance at Loki, who sat holding the cooler in his lap, his expression unreadable. “Look, I’m sorry.”

He said nothing.

Cynara tried again. “I know you’re extremely proud of Sleipnir and I’m all _for_ supporting my, um, step-offspring but my old-fashioned very _human_ parents really won’t really grasp how you have a horse for a son, let alone how you’re actually his, uhh . . . mother.”

Loki gave a gusty sigh and looked off into the distance, which in this case was the garage door beyond the windshield. “Why is it no-one ever understands? You’d think I was the _only_ being who ever chose to become a mare in heat and run wild on a night of the full moon!”

“Well yes, I think you _are_ , actually,” Cynara ventured after a moment.

He shot her a sidelong glance. “He was _worth_ the half hour of labor!”

“Uh, okay.” Cynara paused. “Wait—it only took you thirty minutes to have a baby _horse_ with eight legs?”

“Agonizing,” Loki sniffed, and handed her the cooler. “You’ll understand, Wife, when it’s your turn.”

“No, there will be no turn for me,” she shot back. “No babies of any kind. I _mean_ that!”

His reply to this was a dazzling smile before he climbed out of the car. Grumbling, Cynara did the same, looking up at the Victorian two-story before them with some trepidation.

A thin blonde woman with enormous blue eyes came out of the front door, scurrying over, her arms held out. “’Nara sweetheart!”

“Mom,” Cynara murmured cheerfully hugging the other woman with her one free arm. She turned to Loki, shooting him a cautious look before adding, “This is . . . Loki Laufeyson.”

Her mother hugged him as well; Cynara tried not to laugh at his startled expression at the unexpected squeeze.

“Oh! ‘Nara’s told us so _little_ about you!” came the chirp. “My goodness you’re a handsome one!”

Loki looked over his mother-in-law’s head to Cynara and gave an approving nod. “Your eyesight is excellent, mother of my wife.”

“It _is_ , isn’t it?” came the happy agreement. “Call me Tilly, honey. Ohh you are a _tall_ one too, aren’t you? So where are you from? Are you hungry? Come in, come in . . .” Chattering sweetly she herded Cynara and Loki up the driveway and porch steps with all the bouncy determination of a border collie rounding up a pair of strays.

It was amusing as _hell_ to see him momentarily unable to get a word in edgewise, Cynara thought. Her mother rattled on, shooting question after question without pausing for replies and Cynara moved away from them through the house to the kitchen, setting the cooler on the counter there. A sad-eyed bulldog of a man with a thick mustache looked up from the news paper on the other side of the breakfast nook.  
“’Nara. You made good time.”

“Hey Harry. Yeah, traffic wasn’t too bad.”

“So.” He craned his head towards the doorway. “Your mom looking him over?”

She grinned. “Oh yeah.”

He grunted. “Hope he’s the quiet type.”

“He will be _now,_ ” Cynara predicted, opening the fridge and setting the potato salad inside. “Any beer?”

“Lower shelf.”

She looked, found them and took two out, popping the caps off. A moment later her mother, still prattling, towed Loki into the kitchen, and Cynara noted the flare of panic in his eyes. She handed him a beer; he immediately downed half of it as her mother chirped to Harry.

“Honey this is Loki Laufeyson and he’s just the most _fascinating_ man! So soft-spoken, so mysterious! Oh, and he agrees with me about replacing the molding by the fireplace!”

Harry looked at him for a moment, sizing him up. “Laufeyson, huh? Norse?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Loki replied, taking another heavy swallow of beer.

“So what line you in?” Harry wondered. Cynara gazed at him warningly, and Loki smiled.

“When I’m on top of my game?” he replied earnestly. “Real estate. In a _big_ way.”


	4. Chapter 4

Naturally the attack occurred right when things were going well.

Cynara was amused and impressed with how Loki seemed to be handling his in-laws, using his glib tongue and charms to smooth away any difficulties in conversation. She had to admit to herself that he had made a good impression, particularly on her mother. 

Then again, her mother was still amazed at garage door openers, spray-on tans and greeting cards that sang. Cynara couldn’t figure out how a woman so naïve could be so ferocious in the roller rink. Still, she set a mean picnic table, and the ribs were done to perfection; smiling briefly, Cynara handed Loki the squeeze bottle of Señor Caliente hot sauce with an encouraging nudge. 

He doused not only the ribs, but the potato salad, the fruit salad and shot a healthy dose into his can of beer.

“You sure like that stuff,” Harry observed around a mouthful of potato salad.

“It’s excellent for the libido,” Loki replied blithely, “and will give me stamina when mating.”

Harry choked a little, but her mother beamed.“Speaking of mating, when can I expect my first grandchild?”

“Mom!” Cynara muttered, going red. “Not a topic for the table!”

Loki patted the surface experimentally, his meaning perfectly clear to her. She scowled at him while her mom slammed Harry on the back, helping him clear his windpipe.

“I suppose, but I’m not getting any younger here . . .”

“Indeed, you are not,” Loki agreed, and added, “Although I do have children from . . . previous unions—”

“Oh how sweet!” came the supportive smile. “I suppose they live with their mother?”

Before Loki could make any sort of reply, a loud hiss shook the back yard, and a dark hole opened high up in the sky far above them. Cynara looked up and dropped her fork as something long, green, and furious dropped out and slid down towards the table, wings each as long as a station wagon. It moved with frightening speed, and Cynara only got a glimpse of a feral face with glowing eyes and curved fangs before it landed with a heavy crash onto the newly sodded lawn.

“What the HELL?” Harry bawled, staring at the monster. 

The beast shifted footing and focused on the picnic table, long forked tongue tasting the air. Cynara froze as a terrible realization came to mind.

“Husband,” she whispered, “is that--?”

“Yes,” Loki replied. “There must have been just enough poison in my system for it to trace me. And things were going so _well,_ too.”

“Mom, you and Harry get in the house!” Cynara ordered, rising slowly. Her mother didn’t seem to have heard, but Harry was moving his tubby frame already, gripping Tilly’s arm and dragging her with him towards the sliding glass doors.

“Harry, I think we need to call Animal Control!” she murmured faintly.

Cynara picked up the barbeque fork, which was the only weapon she could see on the table. “Husband, what do we do?”

Loki rose from the table and fished in one pocket, bringing something to his lips. Cynara didn’t see what it was, but saw that he picked up the Señor Caliente sauce bottle and walked towards the dragon slowly, his stride long and confident.

Cynara wished she had a gun, and reached for her cell phone instead, hitting speed dial.  
“Special Technician Sigyn-Laufeyson. Extraterrestrial incursion, 1655 Chestnut Avenue, waterfront district Perth Amboy New Jersey,” she whispered urgently into the phone.

“We know. On our way,” came Agent Hill’s calm voice. “Can you give us any details?”

Before Cynara could speak, Loki had come within a few feet of the monster, standing fearlessly. The dragon, which was roughly the size of a Bluebird school bus, hissed at him, raising a claw-tipped leg for a strike.

Loki whipped the plastic bottle of hot sauce up and shot a heavy stream of the condiment into each the dragon’s wide nostrils, rapidly filling them with Señor Caliente’s finest, and then tossed the empty container over his shoulder.

The dragon choked, shaking its face back and forth in pain, flinging hot sauce everywhere. As it did so, Loki whistled, a high, inhumane pitch that Cynara realized could only be coming from the toy prize whistle he’d gotten from the Fruit Loops box that morning. The screech of it sent the dragon into further agonies and it writhed, clawing up the lawn as it did so.

Loki pulled the whistle from his mouth long enough to shout, “You do not touch what is _mine!_ ” before popping it in again and blowing once more. The pitch went up to an unbearable level, making Cynara’s fillings ache and her eyeballs throb; she dropped the barbeque fork.

Moments later the dragon exploded.

She ducked as chunks of what seemed to be rock and grit flew through the air all around them, breaking windows and denting the siding on the house with explosive force. On the ground where the dragon had been was a smoldering crater and one long claw of glittering emerald. Loki picked it up and blew on it before tucking it away.

Cynara shook her head to clear it and trotted over to him. She could faintly hear car alarms going off all down the block, but her focus was on the man standing in front of her. He turned and she saw with dismay that he had a gash along one high cheekbone. “Husband!”

“Not from a claw,” he assured her, running a finger along the cut and flinging the blood away. “Such a nuisance. Now I’ll have to alter a few memories and take my leave before my brother and his playfellows descend. A pity; I was truly enjoying myself.”

Cynara slipped her arms around him, hugging him hard. “Crap. This wasn’t your fault, not really!”

“Yes, but I doubt that any of your colleagues will see it that way,” Loki pointed out dryly. “I _have_ gained a reputation for destruction. Not undeserved, but . . .”

She felt his hands slide down to squeeze the cheeks of her ass. Cynara tried to glare at him, but found she couldn’t really work up any indignation. “You’re feeling better.”

He grinned. “Your mother longs for grandchildren, Wife.”

“My mother isn’t getting any,” she replied firmly. “You need to go, quickly before Fury gets here.”

“Your parents,” Loki turned and looked; Harry and Tilly were staring through the glass at them. With a dramatic thrust of his arm, Loki sent a thread of green light through the air and glass, engulfing both of the figures standing beyond the glass. It lasted a few seconds; Cynara had just started to protest when it stopped. Loki turned back to her, cupping her shoulders.

“They believe a rock fell from the skies; this is a story that your colleagues will support. I must go, and I do not know when I shall return, but I will contact you on the Plains of Dreaming when I can. Take this—” He held out the claw of the dragon and blew a breath on it. Instantly it was suspended in glittering crystal; a gorgeous pendant.

Cynara held out a hand and he placed it into her palm. Leaning closer, he whispered something soft into her ear, then tilted his head and kissed her firmly. 

Sirens grew louder, and Loki stepped back, looking skyward. He gave a wave toward the sliding glass door, and vanished in a column of green and silver light, twinkling out of sight in a matter of seconds.

Pink-faced, Cynara tucked the pendant away in her pocket and scrambled over to the sliding glass door, yanking it open. “Are you two okay?”

“Oh honey! We should be asking that about you!” her mother burbled. “I’m just glad Loki . . . where is Loki?” she looked around in confusion.

Cynara steered her mother deeper into the house. “He had to leave, remember? Just before the meteor hit . . .”

Harry looked sorrowfully towards the lawn. “Damn it, looks like I’m gonna have to re-sod.”

*** *** *** 

The debriefing took a few hours, but in the end Fury grudgingly agreed that the cover story of a meteor was the best choice for the situation. Cynara knew he wasn’t happy with it, but when it came to Loki, Fury would never be happy.

She kept the claw out of sight, and when she was finally free to go headed back home late in the afternoon to find Sven-the-Fress glad to see her. Out in her own back yard, the miniaturized musk ox ambled over to stand near her, clearly considering Cynara to be a taller member of his herd. She sat down cross-legged on the back steps of the porch, absently petting Sven, who gave little happy grunts between chews of his cud.

“First thing tomorrow, I’m going to find a groomer,” she absently told him. “I know you’re a musk ox, but you stink more than you should. You don’t realize how weird all this is and I didn’t even ask him where he got you . . .” Quietly Cynara pulled out the crystal with the imbedded emerald claw and stared at it.

“Oh husband, you do make life . . . interesting,” she murmured with a hint of melancholy. Cynara tucked it away again, and sat outside watching Sven wander across the lawn until twilight fell. When the stars were clear enough to see against the dark blue of the night sky, she looked up, hoping that wherever the god of mischief was that he was safe.

The soft trill of her phone interrupted her melancholy musings, and Cynara answered it, curious when she recognized the number.

“Hey.We need you to come in for some medical tests,” Phil Coulson told her gently. “Sometime tomorrow.”

“Medical tests?” Cynara frowned. “Isn’t that a little out of your field, Phil?”

“Yeah well you did me a favor once so I’d like to return it,” he replied in an easy tone. “You’re not alone, either. We’re having Jane Foster come in as well. It shouldn’t take too long or be too invasive.”

Cynara sat up straighter. “Phil, what are you _not_ telling me?”

“Tomorrow,” he repeated in his soft voice and hung up, leaving Cynara to chew her lip and worry.


	5. epilog

Epilog

“What do you mean I’m ninety percent human?” Cynara demanded in a low and dangerous voice. She wasn’t thrilled to be in a hospital gown anyway, and having misinformation delivered to her by a cadaverous doctor with thick glasses and an unnerving gleam in his eye wasn’t helping either.

The doctor—Gretchner by name—cleared his throat. “I thought my statement was clear. You are ninety percent human and ten percent extraterrestrial; in this case Jợtnar. Given that we only have scant comparative DNA from the one specimen that’s still subject to verification—still, those are the facts, Special Technician Sigyn-Laufeyson. Somewhere in your father’s family tree, an Ice Giant grafted in, to put it in simpler terms.”

She stared at him. “No, my dad’s family were cod fishermen from Vikna Norway, here on _Earth._ ”

Doctor Gretchner nodded. “Be that as it may, it doesn’t change the fact that Jợtnar genes have popped up in your system. It’s fascinating really—I theorize that they’ve been dormant until your contact with Thor’s brother. In fact, it was probably your exchange of body fluids that activated the gene within you.”

Cynara blanched. She stared down at her hands as if she’d never seen them before. Certainly she didn’t feel any different—a little cold and hungry, but other than that . . . “Damn it, I’m _not_ an Ice Giant!”

Doctor Gretchner tapped a chart in his hand. “I didn’t say you were. I simply pointed out that you’ve got a percentage of genetics that aren’t human and may begin to mutate from this point on. I don’t know why you’re so upset, really—it’s a fascinating development, and I’ve been given permission to monitor you _closely!_ ”

He looked like an excited praying mantis, and Cynara glared at him. “No.”

The door opened before Doctor Gretchner could protest and Phil Coulson peeked in, serene as ever. “I need to talk to Special Technician Sigyn-Laufeyson privately, Doctor.”

In a huff, Doctor Gretchner left, clutching the chart to his chest, stalking away. Phil sat on the vacated stool and crossed his arms, looking at Cynara, who stared back at him.  
They said nothing for a long moment, and finally Cynara sighed. “Jane Foster isn’t here, is she?” 

“No. That was a ruse to help smooth over getting you here today,” Phil admitted quietly. “Although we’re keeping an eye on her as well.”

“Hell of an invasion of privacy,” Cynara grumbled.

“Yes, well you might have noticed that Thor and his family are motivated, strongly, by over-the-top emotional concepts like honor and vengeance,” Phil pointed out. “If he and Jane should get in a family way, I’m sure Loki wouldn’t hesitate to attempt kidnapping or murder.”

“He . . .” She trailed off uncertainly. The Loki she knew intimately was only one side of a very capricious, ambitious god, and Cynara realized that Phil was right. “Shit.”

“’Nara, if either you or Jane conceive it could be bad for Earth. _Very_ bad. It’s rough enough to be caught between two brothers fighting for a throne, but throwing in possible heirs ups the ante for disaster all around. S.H.I.E.L.D. can’t force you to practice contraception, but . . .” he cocked his head and looked thoughtfully at her.

“I wasn’t planning on kids anyway, believe me,” she told him. “I’m already on the pill.”

“Which will work about ninety percent of the time,” Phil replied, “for the human part of you. The wild card is the alien DNA in your system. No telling if that’s going to affect things or not.”

Cynara bristled. “I didn’t _ask_ for it, you know! As far as I’m concerned nothing’s different—I’m still the same _human_ woman who walked in here!”

“And that’s how I see you,” Phil pointed out mildly. “But maybe—just maybe--you should ask Thor what they use in Asgard for birth control.”

He gave her an encouraging smile.

Cynara shot him a disbelieving look, not encouraged in the slightest, and as Phil left the room, she reached for her cell phone, wondering how to even begin such a conversation.

She dialed.

end


End file.
